Most of the Time
by musik577
Summary: Sometimes John just wants to leave Sherlock and his crazy world behind. Sometimes he just wants to find a normal life where corpses and death didn't play such a big part in his daily life. But most of the time, he can't even remember what life was like before 221b Baker Street. One-shot. Friendship fic.


**Hi (: Well, this is my first time writing in this fandom, even though I've loved Sherlock for ages now. I was reading a fic when the summary for this little one-shot popped into my head so yeah, here it is. This is a friendship fic, so it's not intentionally slash (: **

**Disclaimed.**

Sherlock walked in to find John sitting on the couch, clutching a stress ball.

"Did you get any bread while I was out?" Sherlock called as he walked towards his room.

"No."

"Did you go out?"

"No."

Sherlock sighed before walking back into the living room. He sat across from John who was still staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Sherlock pressed his fingers together and observed John.

He was sitting rigidly, fingers clutching the stress ball, fingernails digging into the soft cover of the unfortunate ball. He had been sitting here for a while if the sinking of the couch indicated anything.

"So…" Sherlock paused and looked up to watch John's reaction, "the children really affected you didn't they?"

John flinched.

"There was nothing you could do you know…." Sherlock trailed off, unsure how to help his friend.

"It's not that Sherlock," John snapped suddenly, the stress ball in his hand clenched tightly.

"Then what is it?" Sherlock was steadily becoming less and less impatient; an experiment was waiting for him to be completed in his room and he did _not_ like to be delayed.

"It's everything! It's the dead bodies! It's the constant death threats! It's…" He struggled for a word, "_this_."

Sherlock eyed John warily, John was never much of a complainer. His eyes landed on the stress ball clenched in his hand.

"John? Can I see the stress ball?" He asked calmly, reaching for the little object clutched in John's hand. He scowled but handed it over reluctantly.

Sherlock poked it gingerly before a look of realisation crossed his face.

John watched in silence as Sherlock leapt out of his chair and threw the stress ball into microwave as if it was a bomb.

A muffled explosion soon followed.

"I forgot," Sherlock explained at John's even gaze, "that I ordered a stress ball bomb to be sent here…"

"Why, may I ask, did you order a _stress ball bomb?_" John asked as he placed his fingers to his temple, rubbing vigorously.

"Just testing out some new weapons," Sherlock replied conversationally.

"This is what I'm talking about! This is… nonsense! This is… urgh!" John grabbed his coat and stalked out of the house, muttering angrily.

"Well, the anger compound we made certainly worked," Sherlock remarked to the skull as he walked out of the room, "but maybe putting it on a stress ball with a bomb in it wasn't such a good idea…"

The microwave was still smoking when John returned an hour later with a bag of bread in his hand.

…

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock, who was currently examining a fresh corpse, sighed exasperatedly.

"What?"

"I thought we agreed that your body parts would _not_ be next to my nutella!" John yelled, glaring at the head which currently grinned maniacally back at him.

"There was no space," Sherlock yelled in reply before turning back to his corpse.

A loud thud followed.

"Just so you know, your _head_ will now be found on the kitchen table!" John yelled before taking his nutella and slamming the refrigerator door.

"Mrs Hudson will kill you John."

"She won't know it who put it there Sherlock and in all likelihood, she'll assume it's you!" John replied angrily as he slathered his nutella onto a piece of stale bread; sometimes he really did need a little sweetening to deal with Sherlock.

He stomped up to his room, taking large bites of his bread before pushing open the door to his room and abruptly slammed it.

Sherlock waited for a yell.

"Sherlock!"

He sighed.

"Yes John?"

"Why is there a _body_ in my bathtub?" A loud, and very angry yell told Sherlock that maybe placing his next body which he meaned to examine in John's bathtub would not be very welcomed.

"I'll need it soon, so I'll just come and get it in a moment," Sherlock called back as he continued to work.

A door opened and heavy footsteps thudded down the stairs.

"When I'm back that body better not be there or I swear…" His voice trailed off as the door slammed shut.

Sherlock sighed.

John arrived back an hour later with several bottles of nutella in hand and bathroom cleaner.

…

"On your left!" Sherlock's voice rang through the moonless night.

John promptly punched the man coming up on his left.

Sherlock grunted as he continued to dance with the gang leader while swords were flung around in front of his face.

Suddenly the gang leader collapsed, crumpling to the floor.

John stood behind the collapsed gang leader, grinning.

"I learnt a new trick," John beamed, "the pressure points on his neck," he smiled proudly.

Sherlock nodded and picked up his sword.

"Kinda odd that a gang would have swords," John mused as they walked back to 221b Baker Street.

"They were almost a cult, trying to go back to old ways," Sherlock answered as he reached for his keys.

"That was fun," John added cheerfully, "we should do that again." Sherlock gave him a wary look.

"We should chase crazy men with swords again?" John nodded and grinned widely.

They walked into the living room where John stopped in his tracks.

"Oh hello Linda," John said nervously to the woman sitting on their couch, "not too late am I?"

"Late? Oh not _late_," Linda replied sarcastically, rising from the couch, "I've just waited here for the past _hour_ waiting for you to go the play which I've wanted to see since I came to London, so of course you're not _late_." Linda stalked past John, hitting him with her handbag as she passed.

"Don't call me again," Linda said as she walked towards the door, "we're over John!" The door slammed loudly.

Sherlock's lip twitched.

John sighed.

"Well that went well," Sherlock said dryly as he walked towards his chair.

"They always do…" John muttered as he scavenged for the remote buried deep in the couch.

"Another thing. I have deduced that you are an adrenalin junkie John, from your comments about our adventures tonight," Sherlock said with a snicker.

John ignored him.

"What _did_ you do with your life before me Watson?" Sherlock smirked.

"Get over yourself Holmes."

But John looked thoughtful.

"What did I do before? I can barely remember… all this running and encounters with death are making me old." Sherlock grinned at him.

"That is because you like it here so much. I suspect that you could never fill you inner adrenalin junkie anywhere else apart from here."

"Well of course I love being in a house with a crazy genius, a listening skull and corpses in my bathtub," John remarked sarcastically but he smiled genuinely as he said it.

Sherlock grinned.

"Of course indeed."

**So, what did you think? Let me know in a review (: **

**Thanks for reading!**


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